


making up for all this mess

by seasofgreen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Episode: s02e12 Master Plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:58:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasofgreen/pseuds/seasofgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison runs. </p>
<p>She's done it in every neighborhood she's lived in; five pairs of running shoes and a collection of sports bras like a workout spread in a teen magazine. Aunt Kate used to take her, said it was a good skill, that she'd need it someday and that it was good for building strength. She'd never said what the strength would be for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	making up for all this mess

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little...missing scene type thing? I needed a little something to fill the time in between seasons 2 and 3. also pre-slash sterek if you squint.

Allison is an Argent. 

She's known that all her life, obviously, before family legacies and werewolves and hunting, even before she first picked up a bow and arrow and enrolled in her first martial arts class. 

Their family name meant something - not just to them, but to so many others her family came across. Before everything, Allison thought it was strange. The way that her father's "friends" would look at her mother like she could destroy them all, or the way that they all fell silent when her aunt walked into the room, and waited for her to speak. 

Allison runs. 

She's done it in every neighborhood she's lived in, five pairs of running shoes and a collection of sports bras like a workout spread in a teen magazine. Aunt Kate used to take her, said it was a good skill, that she'd need it someday and that it was good for building strength. She'd never said what the strength would be for. 

When they move to Beacon Hills, the preserve is the best place to go. It's quiet, which is nice, and the woods rising up all around her and the fog that clings to the ground isn't new for her. Most of the places she's lived in were like this, all tall trees and secrets surrounded by picture perfect suburbs. It's devastatingly simple how easy everything falls into place when you know all of the pieces. 

"I'm going out," she says, passing her father on the stairs. His eyes are red-rimmed and his cheeks are sunken. Gerard vanished a week ago, and she has a sneaking suspicion her father has something to do with wherever he is now, as horrified as he was by him. They're hunters, trained authoritarian killers, but family has always been their kryptonite. It's been three weeks since her mother, well, three weeks since her mother. 

He says nothing and lets her pass, but he watches her with sad, guilty eyes. It's not like she can take back anything anyway. They're going to France, he'd told her yesterday, the last two remaining Argents. It's as much about seeking asylum as it is a bonding trip. 

Going out in the woods now of all times is probably the stupidest thing she can do after all, but it's habit. Instinct, one could call it. 

She parks her car in the empty lot, leaves scattered and swirling over the concrete, tossing her phone in the backseat and locking it, because no one would call her now, anyway. 

It's easy to get lost in the music, in the feet of her shoes on the dirt. She's run this route so many times it's become effortless, passing areas where she and Scott shared kisses and where her father took her for target practice through familiar, well-worn paths. Which is why she notices when something isn't right. Allison slows, glancing around warily. 

She sucks in a breath and holds it, willing her heartbeat to slow down, and flicks her finger across the screen of her iPod. Dubstep, of course she was listening to dubstep. Scott used to get headaches when she played it in her room and it didn't make sense until…

Derek Hale is standing four trees away. He's shirtless and dripping, like the night Aunt Kate sent volts through his body. 

Allison presses herself as tightly to the oak as she can. There is a tiny, crooked knife in the waistband of her shorts, sewn into the fold-over yoga top. 

It's different, seeing him when she isn't blinded by darkness. He killed her mother and she can't forget that, _won't_ ever forget that, but…he looks as tired as her father. 

She hears his feet move before they kick up the leaves as he shifts his feet. His eyes narrow as he glances over at the tree she's standing behind, probably wondering if she has reinforcements. Not anymore, she doesn't. 

There's a low rumbling, like he's growling in the back of his throat, and Allison steps out, slowly, drawing her hands out to her sides. She's not a threat anymore, but she juts her chin out, as if daring him to try anything. 

They stand there for a long moment, staring at each other. 

Derek looks at her with something broken in his expression, she can see the night with Erica and Boyd in his eyes. It makes her swallow guiltily, and she wonders what he sees in hers. 

His brow furrows, and Allison puts a hand on her waist, palm curving around the knife, before he turns around to the sound of splintering branches. 

Stiles is standing at the top of a ledge, still fading bruises stark against the rest of his face. "Hey, dumbass! Where'd you go?" 

Derek looks back at her over his shoulder as he jogs off, and Allison lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. 

Maybe they'll come to an understanding. Someday. 

She leaves for France the next week.


End file.
